


Peaceful Resistance

by rotarycell



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, Shattered Glass AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotarycell/pseuds/rotarycell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakdown meets the leader of the Decepticons and falls under his spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peaceful Resistance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tf_prime Winter Wishlist request for TFP!Shattered Glass.

The crowd seethed, a hundred, a thousand bots all crowded into the streets, into the alleys, into the doorways of buildings. It was a riot of colors, red and blue and yellow and green plating, purple and orange in every shade, though half the gathered bots looked like they hadn't seen a polishing cloth in their lives, and from a distance the effect was a muddy blend of everything. In the tall buildings surrounding the square, most of the windows had been shut and barred against the probable riot, but a few swung open, full of curious gawkers. Breakdown had expected noise, the wild chanting and shouting that preceded a riot or an uprising, but all he heard was the low drone of distant conversation.

"Ridiculous," Arcee commented. She hopped down from her vantage point on the wall, joining the rest of their unit on the roof. Below them, more protesters marched towards the gathered crowd, not slinking like criminals but walking openly, as if they had a right to be there.

Bulkhead peered over the wall, scowling down at the protesters. "Why bother waiting? Lemme go down there and pound a couple of them into scrap. Teach them their place, yeah?" He demonstrated, pounding his fist into his hand. "They're just a bunch of uppity factory drones, anyway. Why let 'em have an audience at all, right, Breakdown?"

Breakdown blinked. He had been watching the center of the square, where a dozen bots were putting together some sort of platform so quickly it looked like magic, but now he turned back towards the others. "Uh," he said, "sure, Bulk." Reviewing Bulkhead's statements, he added, "He's got a point, Captain. Why's the Council letting a bunch of low-caste workers put on a show like this?"

Arcee rolled her optics. "It's a demonstration. The Council intends to _demonstrate_ why it's better not to cross them, all right? Don't stress your processor thinking so much, Breakdown, it's not your job."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, look, we know this guy's been bleating about peace and nonviolence and whatever other fancy words he's made up about it, but even a blind mech could see that that many dumb brutes in one place is a mob, not a movement. Megatron wants sympathy for all the nice, peaceful, downtrodden lower castes, but we all know that there's no such thing. Orders are, we wait for the leader to show, arrest him and the organizers, and let the rest take care of itself. No opening fire until the mob down there shows their true colors and starts rioting. The rest of the Council forces are on standby, they'll come in to mop up when we're through."

Down in the square, the drone of conversation became a rumble, then a roar, as the shouting Breakdown had been expecting finally started up. On the platform, he could faintly make out the tall, white shape of Megatron, recognizable by his bearing even from this distance. The ex-gladiator held up his hand, and the crowd fell into immediate, eerie silence.

"All right," said Arcee, "There's our target. Let's roll out."

Breakdown couldn't make out much of the speech. The rebels, or whatever they considered themselves to be, had rigged up some sort of sound system, so that Megatron's voice boomed out over the crowd, far up the street, but the alleys funneled the sound oddly, distorting it, so that mostly Breakdown heard meaningless babble. Yet even so, Breakdown found Megatron's voice arresting, and he had to stop himself from pausing to listen and try to detangle the garbled sounds into something meaningful. It didn't matter. This was why they were here, because Megatron was dangerous, could entrance a thousand bots at once with nothing more than empty talk.

They came up against a wall of protesters and ground to a halt. A few glanced back, caught sight of their Council badges, and balked, spreading the word to their neighbors in a ripple of dismay. Breakdown expected them to scatter, in justified fear of the Enforcers, but they merely stood there, tense but unmoving.

Arcee marched straight through them, self-assured enough to not care who got in her way, small enough to slip through the crowd in any case. Bulkhead, Breakdown, and the rest followed more slowly, shouldering their way through the crowd. Breakdown felt the weight of their collective gaze like a physical burden. He was used to bots like these scurrying past, doing their best not to be noticed, not to draw his attention, but everywhere he looked, now, he saw a pair of optics meeting his, boldly, defiantly.

Breakdown could feel his weapons and tactical systems coming on standby. There were just so many of them, he could see now that the crowd stretched back along the main street beyond even the zoom of his optics, rank upon rank. It really was an army, and he felt exposed, here, just a couple of drops in the sea of protesters. If things went south, the crowd would swallow them up in an instant. Breakdown held back a shudder.

Was the Council just using them as cannon fodder? Surely Arcee would be a little more reluctant to accept a suicide mission for something as odd as this?

For the most part, the protesters let him push through them with only a token resistance, just enough that he was obligated to physically nudge them aside. One bot, near the platform, planted herself directly in front of him and would not move until he actually picked her up and set her aside. She was a helicopter of some sort, and her rotors bristled around her shoulders menacingly, but she never struck at him. She just glared, blue optics hard under her bright yellow helm. She shook when he touched her, and Breakdown thought, bizarrely, that she must be about as frightened as he was.

They reached the platform without incident, though Breakdown knew every bot close enough to see was staring at them. Throughout all this, Megatron had not stopped speaking, as if he did not care that the Council's forces were here to take him. Even as they stepped onto the platform itself, he merely looked at them and nodded, as if he'd been expecting them.

"Megatron," barked Arcee, "For disturbing the peace, and for acting outside the confines of your caste and station, you are under arrest." Whatever amplification they had used to project Megatron's speech picked up her voice, making it thunder up and down the street like a proclamation of doom.

Megatron smiled. "Of course," he said, "I would expect nothing less."

Arcee motioned, and Breakdown and Bulkhead stepped forward. They were both large models, heavy enough that throwing their weight around was usually no problem, but Megatron still stood a head taller than both of them, and Breakdown was suddenly, acutely aware that he used to be one of the deadliest gladiators in the pits. Still, he put up no resistance when Breakdown cuffed his wrists behind his back.

"Hey, Breakdown, hold on to him for me, wouldja?"

"What?" he tried to ask, but before he could get the word out Bulkhead's wrecking ball slammed into Megatron's abdominal plating with a sickening crunch. Startled, Breakdown caught the mech by the shoulders before he collapsed, only for Bulkhead to come in for a second strike. The blow shook them both, but Megatron only grunted and remained still.

"Bulk, what the scrap are you doing?"

Bulkhead shrugged, as if it were no consequence. "He looked like he wanted to resist arrest."

Whatever he might have said after that was lost in the tumult as the crowd went mad. For one terrible moment, Breakdown thought that they were doing as Arcee had predicted, reverting to type. He imagined them storming the platform, tearing the three of them to pieces. When he looked across the crowd, though, he realized that their backup had arrived, and the protesters were screaming as they tried to scatter around the oncoming ranks of Council enforcers.

* * *

Breakdown stared down at Megatron through the crackling energy barrier. This was stupid, probably the stupidest thing he had ever done, which Bulkhead would no doubt say was impressive, considering. Technically, he had no business even being here, but a little bribery went a long way, apparently. He didn't like to think what, exactly, Barricade thought it was he wanted with the prisoner, but it was common knowledge among the ranks who had been responsible for Megatron's arrest, so he'd let him through.

It was odd, seeing the mech like this. The cell had clearly been built for a smaller frametype, and Megatron looked cramped, tucked in the back against the wall. His plating, once a clean and unassuming white, now showed all the dents and tears and stains of his time in Council custody quite clearly. He looked up when Breakdown entered, his optics powering slowly, in the way typical of the under-fueled.

"I remember you," he said.

"Uh," he replied. Alarm spiked. Did the rebel blame him for what had befallen him at the rally? Certainly Breakdown blamed himself. In any case, he'd come here for a reason. Breakdown hit the controls to the left of the cell door, bringing down the energy barrier, and stepped into the cell.

If it had looked cramped before, with two of them in the tiny space it felt stifling. Breakdown crouched, trying not to loom over Megatron, but the big mech seemed content to observe him calmly. "Are you all right?" he asked as he began checking Megatron over for injuries.

What a stupid question. It was obvious just from looking that Megatron was anything but. His plating, once white, was now quite dingy, flaking in places and full of scratches. He sported dents all over, and a few tears caked in gummy, drying energon, though nothing seemed to be leaking anymore. The complex plates of his middle still bore the massive cratering from where Bulkhead had struck him in the square. Many of these injuries were new, though.

Megatron smiled, as if his jailers expressed concern for him like this every day. "I'm as well as can be expected, brother. None of it is fatal. Your people have been quite careful."

Breakdown winced. "I'm sorry," he blurted, "I shouldn't have let him do it. I mean, I probably couldn't have stopped him, but I shouldn't have just--I'm sorry."

Megatron caught him by the arm. He still had the hands of a pit fighter, Breakdown saw, but he had let the sharp claws wear away with time, and though Megatron could doubtless still do a great deal of damage with them if he wished to, they were noticeably dull.

"I knew what the consequences were when I chose to speak that day," he said, "It was quite expected. How else can we oppose violence, except with peace?"

"By not even defending yourself?" Breakdown shook his head. "I don't get it. Weren't you a gladiator? Don't you know anything about keeping yourself alive?"

"Yes, I was a gladiator. I have killed. I killed so much I became sick with it." Megatron shrugged, the movement arrested by some misalignment in his shoulder. "There are others who believe that the change we need can only be achieved through struggle, war, and conquest. Some of them are among my own people. But that is no way to build a new society. One does not put out a fire by fanning the flames. The Council rules by force and fear, but there is another way. We will show them that it is so."

Breakdown stared at him. He looked so confident, he sounded so reasonable, and yet everything coming out of his mouth was insane. So why did it sound so appealing? "But why," he began, and stopped. As fascinating as this all was, it wasn't why he was here. "Never mind. I don't have much time. Is there anything you need, Megatron? Fuel, or, uh, I dunno, repairs?"

Megatron looked at him, his optics narrowed contemplatively. "What's your name, brother?" he asked.

"Breakdown."

"Why do you wish to help me, Breakdown? Is it because you are sorry?"

"Uh." Breakdown shifted awkwardly, feeling suddenly trapped, for all that Megatron was technically the prisoner. "Yes?"

Megatron smiled. "You sound uncertain."

"Well, I. Uh." For all that he had been wrestling with himself in the days since Megatron's arrest, he hadn't exactly planned on baring himself to him like this. "I've always been an enforcer, obviously," he said quietly. He checked over his shoulder, though he knew that no one was listening. He could trust Barricade that much, at least. "They said it was what I was meant to do. And I'm good at it. But I've never liked it, and I always wonder—" he trailed off helplessly.

Megatron was silent for a long moment, long enough that Breakdown was painfully aware of his chronometer ticking down. Finally, he nodded, once, as if coming to a decision. "You are not the only one to wonder, Breakdown. How far are you willing to let your wondering take you?"

He was already driving off the edge of the cliff, so Breakdown said, "Pretty far, I think."

"Very well." Megatron reached behind his helm, into one of the small data ports there, and withdrew a tiny chip. He held it up between two dull claws. "There is nothing that I need for myself, but you might deliver a message. There are elements among my people who will be angered by my arrest, and I would like to reassure them before they do anything too rash."

Breakdown took the chip, holding it carefully in his big hands. "Where should I take it?"

"There is a bodyshop down in the laborer's district, near the docks. There is a code."

Breakdown felt the prick of a short, tight-band transmission. Startled, he accepted it, though he was sure that all comms should have been jammed within the cellblock. There was a code, and simple directions pointing to the laborer’s district in Kaon. Slipping the chip into a chink in his own plating, he stepped out of the cell and reactivated the barrier. "I might not be able to come back for a while. Will there be more of these?"

“So long as I function, I will continue my writing, such as it is.” Megatron tapped his helm significantly. “The processors work just as well in prison as outside it. I will have more when you return. Thank you for your kindness, brother.”

Breakdown looked at him oddly. "What's with talking like everyone's your ember twin, anyway?"

"We all come from the same source, do we not? We are all brothers and sisters, you and I and the Council itself."

Breakdown shook his head, turning to hurry up the hall before Barricade started asking where he was. What was he getting himself into?

* * *

The street looked empty, but Breakdown felt the optics of hidden watchers on him, as heavy as when he'd waded through the crowd to arrest Megatron and as fearful. It made him tense, but then again, Breakdown had been nothing but tense since that day; why should this be any different? The properties here were marked poorly, if at all, as if to drive off strangers. He did not see more than a few locals, most of whom kept their heads bowed as they hurried past, or stole wary looks when they thought he had turned the other way. Still, Megatron's directions were good, and he found the bodyshop soon enough.

The façade looked like every other shop in this area, which was to say, disreputable, but unlike the others it seemed to be a hub of activity. Bots slipped in and out, hurriedly, and none of them looked like they'd seen a detailer's buffer in a long time, even the kind of substandard equipment likely to be found in a poor district like this. Breakdown was not trying to be particularly sneaky, and soon enough one bot came out the door, caught sight of him, and dashed in again. Raising the alarm, he assumed.

There was a bang and some shouting from within, and then a small car stormed out into the street. "Come to finish the job, I supposed," he snarled. His paint was as bad as Megatron's, cracked and crazed, and the color had faded from bright green to dull grime. Whatever this place was, it definitely wasn't a bodyshop. "I suppose you might as well arrest us all, then. These poor scrapheaps won't survive long in the stockades, but they won't survive long without me _anyway_ , so I guess it hardly matters." He stopped the door from sliding shut, and Breakdown could just make out the shapes of at least a dozen frames laid out on the floor.

"I’m not here to arrest anyone."

"Oh, no? An enforcer of the Council just thought he might take a stroll through the low-caste districts, then, on his own time?"

Hurriedly, Breakdown transferred the code Megatron had given him on as tight a frequency as he was able, without knowing the car's personal frequencies. The other bot's optics narrowed.

"I see," he said, "and how am I to know that you came by this information honestly? You have many of our people in your custody, after all."

Breakdown sighed, frustrated. "I guess you'll just have to trust me."

The other bot looked like he would rather suck exhaust, but he led Breakdown inside. They picked their way across the floor of what must have been a makeshift medical clinic, full to overflowing with patients. Breakdown thought he saw the helicopter he'd picked up and set aside, using her unusual rotors as a second set of spindly legs to step over the convalescent bots, but they passed into the back rooms before he could get a good look.

They passed a few more rooms, all full of injured bots and substandard medical equipment, and came at last to a tiny room in the very back. A single bot stood guard by the rear door, and Breakdown noted with surprise that he was a jet of some kind, tall and lean and far too well-maintained for this area. He straightened up when they approached, giving Breakdown a sharp look.

"And who might this be?"

"He claims he has a message from Megatron," said the car--a medic?--with a scowl, "So let's see it, then."

Breakdown fumbled with the chip, nearly dropping it as he handed it over. The medic held it up in the light for a moment before he slotted it into the battered datapad the jet handed him. They bent over the screen, heads together as they read whatever Megatron had recorded there. Breakdown tried not to fret.

"Well, Breakdown, it seems you have done us a great service," said the jet at length. "Imprisonment will not stop the movement. I will give this to Soundwave."

"Orion, first, I should think," said the medic. "He's angrier than I am, and with no one up there in Iacon to keep him out of trouble…"

"Hmm, you may be right." The jet gave him an appraising look. "Megatron indicates that you have volunteered to carry more of these for him."

"When I can." Breakdown grimaced. "Until I get caught, at least."

"Brave, for an enforcer. Well, then," the jet held out his hand, "I thank you for your help. I am Air Commander Starscream, and this is Knock Out, a friend and excellent medic. Welcome to the Decepticons, brother."


End file.
